Confession
by phayte1978
Summary: Yuuri makes a confession to Father Nikiforov. (((Warning for clergy kink and possible damnation for reading this))) AU


Closing the door behind him, he hears it click into place. The echo going through out the tiny, dark, shadow filled room. Incense is thick in the air, it curls in your nose and clings to your clothing, making your throat burn and eyes water. An old worn wooden chair sits in the center of the tiny cramped space. Standing up if you reached your arms out, they cannot fully extend, as a child this room was dark, intimidating, brought by nightmares of hell fires and demons. The floor glows from the sunlight outside the room, but just the bottom half. To the right, there is a cage like opening. Not bars on the opening, no. More like a screen, a screen etched with small crosses going in a criss cross pattern. The screen is closed off.

Waiting, breathing in more incense, he hears someone enter in the next room, the door shuts quietly into place. There is a slight rustling around of robes, wood creaking, giving way to weight. A few more moments and the slide of the cover on the grate opens. Giving way to the room next to it, but no sight. Nothing could be seen other than a slight silhouette. He knew there was someone there, the soft steady breathing and the silhouette barely seen.

Slipping his hand to his forehead, mid section, left shoulder, and then right. Pushing the chair back as far to the wall and dropping to his knees on the hard cold floor, palms sweaty, cold, hard wooden beads pressed against them, between fingers gently rolling and pulling them.

"Bless and forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been one week since my last confession. Since then I have committed a mortal sin…." the beads are working through his fingers, counting all ten beads, then moving to another ten. He knows each requires a prayer, but slipping them through his fingers are a comfort, keeping his hand busy. Taking a deep breath, the incense burning into his lungs, clearing his throat, mouth going dry and tongue feeling heavy, stale.

Opening his mouth, no sound comes out, he clears his throat.

"My son, confess your sins." He hears a low voice through the screen. He hears 'his' voice that sets his cock alive, twitching in his pants. Taking in a deep breath, the incense sharp in his nostrils, burning heavily in his throat. Taking a quick moment, he looks to the door, the brass handle begging him to turn it and flee. Pulling the beads through his fingers, he is afraid if he pulls the thin cord harder he will litter the floor in them.

Wrapping the beads tightly in his fist, fingers again to forehead, mid section, left shoulder, right shoulder- takes a slow deep breath, clears his throat, trying to get the taste of incense out of his throat, trying to keep the stir in his pants from returning as he confesses his sins.

"I… I have committed a mortal sin. I have knowingly… and willingly... given into impure thoughts and actions…" breathing in deeply, incense clinging to his nose, no longer burning, uncomfortable, almost welcoming. Voice going low, quiet, almost unable to be heard, the clanking of the beads in his hands louder, "I.. have thought of a man… and not… not just thinking of him… but thinking of him… in an impure way…." he stops again. Doesn't know how to continue, doesn't know if he should.

"Go on." he hears that voice again, smooth, like silk across his ears.

Swallowing hard, he rubs a bead between his finger, "So um… I was saying… these thoughts I have… this man… he is someone I can never have. They are unholy, they are impure and I love thinking them." There he said it. "I know I should repent, I know I should not love them, but I continue to every night… think… these thoughts… then I… well… act on them." Taking another deep breath.

"And how are you acting on them?" The voice ask.

"Well.. all i have to do is think about him. Someone I can never… have." Thinking of him now, his pants stir a bit, those eyes that sparkle, especially when he smiles, the strong shoulders on a lean fit body, his pants are slowly getting tighter, "He has this smile… and when he smiles, even if it is to a room of people… it captivates me. When he looks at me, if feel like he is looking… looking into me. When ever he is around… I ugh… I get turned on. So at night, my mind will go to him… knowing how he affects me…" he was affected now, his cock was half hard thinking about him, the beads still wrapped around his hand, he takes the other hand, adjusting his cock knowing how wrong it is, to be where he is, and to feel how he is feeling.

"I will think of him, think of the way his… silver hair covers one eye and he will brush it back… those long thin fingers… finger I want...:" he chokes slightly, not sure if from what he was saying or the incense that seem to only linger. His hand is slowly rubbing the front if his every growing tent to his pants, shoulders sagging, lets out a harsh breath. "His hands are amazing… the way they work… if I were an artist, I would draw those hands… I think about those hands… I think of those eyes… his silver hair… "

He can hear the breath slightly quicken in the next room. "Continue my son…"

"I… I know his hair has to be soft, I can imagine the smell, it is strong, like the incense in this church…" gasping, he stops, knowing that was saying too much, "He ugh… is beautiful."

"Beauty is not sin, if not flaunted."

"Oh no! No Father! Never flaunted! I think… that is the problem… he doesn't even try. He doesn't even know the power he holds." sighing deeply, his body relaxes as he thinks about him, his hand still on the front of his pants, his erection slowly growing, not half hard though. Shifting the weight on his knees, feeling the hard wooden floor, not caring as much about pain in his knees as the stir in his pants. "I just… I just… sit at night and think of him." he manages to whisper out.

"Thinking about someone is not a sin my son, as long as you are not acting on it..."

"No!" he blurted out not thinking, the wooden box absorbing his word, "I just don't think of him, I think of him touching me… I think of him, not in his robes… I think of what is under them. His lean long body. I think of those hands on me, I think of my hands on him." His hand is absently rubbing his cock again, growing over half hard now. Shifting his knees more, taking the hand clutching the beads, he is not thinking, he undoes his top button to his pants, they are too tight. The beads knocking against him in his hand. He has thoughts in his head, this man that towers over him, completely enveloping him in his strong arms, pulling him close, devouring him.

The knocking of the beads, seeming loud in the tiny room bring him back to where he is, his pants unzipped, his hard cock straining in his briefs. The beads in his hand giving a gentle sensation over the cotton, making his body shudder. A sound escapes his lips, a low whimper, the thoughts are in his head, his fantasy.

He can hear a wince in the breath that came out swiftly from the next room, the broken sound of his voice, "Continue…"

Slowly exhaling, as his breathing has become accelerated, needing to lull the images in his mind, his hand clutching his cock, the beads pressing into his shaft, "I want… I want these thoughts, I want these fantasies, I lay in bed at night… running my hands down my body… imagining they are his hands…" his hand leisurely stroking up and down his cock, the beads pressing into him. "I want him to touch me… I want to touch him… I know what I am thinking is wrong and sinful… but I don't care! I have these thoughts every night, I welcome them. When I think them… I… UGH!" He squeezed his cock through his briefs, the beads pressing in tighter to his shaft. His other hand pushing his briefs down, wrapping his hands with the beads back around his shaft, slowly stroking and pulling at his cock, the head seeping onto his hands over the beads.

"I know I should not lust over this man… and it is lust… and I do.. I sdo want to know him, his mind and body… but the lust takes over. I know… I know it sinful… I willfully do this… my choice… Ugh!" He is breathing hard, panting out his words, his cock head oozing as he stroked from the head down his shaft, the beads are slippery, the pressure they give his shaft is unbearable, pleasurable.

"My… my son… are you ok?" a winded voice replies.

"Y-yes… father… Ugh!" his other hand has reached, gently rolling his balls.

"P-please… c-continue then." the voice mumbled.

"I… I picture him… we are up on the pulpit... " the incense is making his head dizzy the hairs in his nose tickling, burning,, he has forgotten where he was and who he was talking too, "he is gentle, always gentle… at first… normally starts with a kiss… it is light and chaste… I imagine he taste… ugh… of berries and wine. I am the one who… ugh…" his hand is pressing the beads into his cock as he strokes desperately now. Knowing this man is on the other side of the wall, hearing his sin, it is almost too much, he can feel the pressure building, the beads clanking as he rubs. He has to stop or he will never get his confession out.

"I always grab at his robes… pulling him closer… the scratchiness of those robes on my fingers… I want to feel… to feel them on my chest… I want… those robes…" He taken his hands under his shirt, softly moving his hand, barely brushing a nipple, feeling the peak of it under his fingers. "I lust over this man, everything… everything about him… just pulls me to him… I'm wicked… unholy…"

"Lord, inflame our hearts... and our inmost beings... with the fire of Your Holy Spirit... that we may serve You... with chaste bodies and pure minds... Through Christ our Lord. Amen…" the voice replies back nervously, unsteady.

On the verge of tears, his cock weeping down his fist, the beads sticky and slick, "I know… I can't stop… I… I don't want to stop." he whispers, "I want him… I want him… to bend me over… the sacrificial table… I want him… to pour holy water… all over my body… I picture those hands… taking my pants off... " the stroking on his cock getting more desperate at each pull, the beads clanking hard, digging harder into his shaft. "I picture him… bending me over… using those… ugh… those fingers… he spreads me before the lord... "

Something drops in the next room, it is a loud thump and catches him off guard. Sharp intake of breath, incense filling his lungs. He stops all movement, holding still, hand around his cock, other hand on his chest. There is silence now. Pure silence.

"Blessed are the pure of heart... for they shall see God… S-sorry my son… dropped something… go on." he hears him stammer.

"I… I… ugh... " eagerly grasping his cock harder, "he spreads me before the lord… those fingers… they stroke down my spine… they seek further down… they…" taking the beads he unravels them from his hand, gently wrapping them around his shaft, rolling them up and down, the slick liquid slowly dripping out of him, "they find my entrance…" swiping his fingers over the head of this cock, getting the glossy fluid, taking that hand reaching behind him, spreading his knees more across the hard floor, slowly rubbing his rectum, pushing his finger tip in, not going further, "They are gentle… those long… lean fingers… he presses them… in me." the last part barely a whisper. His finger slowly slipping inside himself, thrusting into his hand, the beads rolling along his hand down his cock. "He continues to press those... fingers in me… getting me… ready for him…"

His finger slipping in and out, rocking back into his hand, "I can imagine it so well… I know it is sinful… but I can never stop… what gets… get me over the edge… when I feel the scratchy robes on my body… he has pulled up his robes… freeling his magnificent self… pressing himself against me… the robes… they fall on my back… I can almost feel them if I try hard enough… he enters me… gently… laying his wooden cross on the center of back… keeping me pinned to the sacrificial table… he takes me… he claims me! In front of God, in front of the congregation… Uh.. UGH! Oh Father Nikiforov!" he moans out as he feels his balls clench up, pulling his finger out his ass he reaches his hand forward, pumping his cock ruthlessly, it spitting out all over his other palm. His chest heaving, breath labored, he strokes out the last of his release, the beads making his shaft overly sensitive. Holding his half hard, slowly deflated cock in his hand, he moans out one last time. The room slowly growing thick with the smell of sex and incense. Slowly reaching for his scarf, he wipes his hand on it, rising off his knees back to the chair, his knees screaming out at him him. Tucking himself back into his pants, fastening them.

He touches his forehead, midsection, left shoulder and right. "Please, forgive me father, for I have sinned… and continue to sin…"

"Pray with me my son… Flee sexual immorality. Every sin that a man does is outside the body, but he who commits sexual immorality sins against his own body…. My son…Your penance is five rosaries, please continue to pray in our Lord and Savior. Blessed are those whose sins have been forgiven, whose evil deeds have been forgotten. Rejoice in the Lord, and go in peace. Pray for me, I will pray for you. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen."

"Amen. Thank you Father."

Slowly rising out of the chair, turning that brass knob, opening the door, the light from the room penetrates all around him, the stained glass in the windows raining colors down all around the pews. Walking to one towards the back, kneels on the soft cushion, taking his beads, those sticky beads he has been clutching, tracing his finger over each one, ten in a row, lips moving to the prayer, head down low.

He does not know how long he has been there, the beads are crusty from the cum drying on them, flaking off, fingers feeling dry, mind in a trance, ten beads in a row. Always doing his rosaries put him at great peace, almost meditational state. Realizing he has done his five, he slowly rises off the padded knee rest, he stretches slowly. His back popping from the long time bent over the pew praying. Looking up, he sees a few pews over, those robes, the robes he so longed to touch and a silver head slowly lifting as his lips were finishing a silent prayer.

The silver head turned looking at him, then rose. He was firmly stuck in his spot, the silver head reaching him, placed a hand on his shoulder. "Yuuri, are you ok?" He knew he was flushed.

"Y-yes Father Nikiforov, I… I am fine."

"Good good." Father Nikiforov leans over, placing his lips right at his ears, almost touching, "See you in mass tomorrow Yuuri."

* * *

 **I am also on AO3 as Phayte - Dont be shy!  
**


End file.
